Crow's Courtship
by UnpublishedWriter
Summary: A short piece starring my OC in the Gatchamania IF.  G-Force has more members.  Asandeh Kamres is ready to take her relationship to the next level.


The buzzing of her comm. woke Doris Maybrick. She squinted at the time (1900) and the caller ID. Her sleep-fogged mind made the connection. "Mercy? Girl, you know my shift just ended." Okay, two hours ago, but it didn't feel like it.

"I'm sorry, Doris, but San just asked me out on a real date and I don't have a thing to wear" –

"Whoa, slow down. I understood maybe two words."

"Asandeh asked me out on a real date. A nice clothes date, but not formal. I don't have a thing to wear."

"No need to go Red Alert on me. I'll be right over. And congratulations."

* * *

She found Mercy staring forlornly at her little closet, wibbling that she had nothing fit to wear.

"Bullshit, girlfriend. There's _something_ in there. Let me take a look."

Set aside the uniforms, the outerwear, the casual slacks and blouses, take a look at the suit. The pants would work, with a nice blouse. What was in the plastic? "Oh, you try this on right now."

Mercy disappeared into the bathroom.

"When is this date?" Doris called.

"Day after tomorrow."

Time enough to do something about the hair. "Plenty of time."

"I'm coming out. Don't laugh."

Nothing to laugh at. Short tunic and slacks of a softly-draping, gently-shimmering green-blue fabric led the eye to every one of Mercy's assets and perfectly complemented her coloring. "You could have half the base on your speed-dial if you wanted."

"Really?"

_She does not believe she's pretty_. "If Asandeh wasn't Barazon, she'd have you _out_ of that in five minutes. You look delicious." _And I'm not gay._

"I do?"

"You do. Now, let's raid your jewelry box and see about some make-up." Sleep could wait a while.

* * *

Center Neptune's underwater section was not sterile and all-business. It had recreational areas, eating areas, and so forth. But it wasn't adequate for what Asandeh had planned.

She had made her plans, after much thought and research into U.S. dating customs. At one of the land-base restaurants, she had reserved a personal dining room and ordered dinner for two. Soft lighting, candles, and music.

After that, they could go to one of the public 'clubs' or clear away the table for dancing in private.

The rest of the evening would follow its course.

She planned to court Mercy Cantrell.

Zalgolian courtship was more than dating, or even Earth-type courting. Marriage had to be solid, the couple had to demonstrate their commitment to each other and confirm they weren't driven by post-combat emotions or other stressors.

Each courted the other. It showed they knew and respected, complemented and supplemented each other.

Mercy was not Zalgolian. She would try, but she would think of courtship in Earth terms.

Which made for an interesting challenge.

For this date, she picked out a cream-colored long-sleeved shirt and an elaborately-embroidered, long-fringed, short-sleeved teal tunic and dark-brown trousers. Jeweled ear-cuff hung with fine gold chains and a simple necklace.

She stroked the jewelry case she'd ordered from home. Courtship bracelets.

* * *

Heart thumping almost audibly, she knocked on Mercy's door. _I can do this I can do this._

The door opened.

Mercy looked – great.

Someone had worked magic with her hair, turning the businesslike cut fashionable, enhancing the lines of her face and setting off small gold earrings.

The green-blue hues of her clothes made her skin glow with a healthy color, and the soft neckline drew the eye to either her face or her bust, while the tunic's hem and the trousers showed off her hips. "You look wonderful."

"Thank you," Mercy breathed. "So do you. Come in."

Now her rehearsed words deserted her. "This – this is more than a date, Merse." She opened the jewelry case. "This – I" – Swallow, never mind preliminaries. "Mercy Cantrell, I offer courtship in accordance with ancient custom."

Silence. Mercy reached out, drew back. "San. I – Oh…." A dozen emotions flashed across her face. "I know what this means to you. Sort of. I've been studying your culture. I – I want to do this right, but I don't know if I can."

"The form is nothing. It's the substance. This is _our_ courtship, no-one else's. We solve our problems together." She waited.

"I accept."

"Take this." She gave one of the courtship bracelets to Mercy. "Hold it in your right hand. You fasten it around my right wrist at the same time I fasten this around yours."

Catches clicked almost simultaneously.

"Now for this." Cupping Mercy's face in her hands, Asandeh kissed her. "Dinner awaits."

* * *

As close to perfect as dinner could get, Mercy thought. Caesar salad, steak-and-lobster entrée with baked potato and a selection of vegetables, a good vintage of wine, and death-by-chocolate mousse for dessert. Every course impeccably served by well-trained waiters.

They had talked, her trying to get a handle on the Zalgolian version of courtship. Asandeh had tried to explain it, and the meaning of the empty settings on the courtship bracelets.

The courtship wasn't reducible to alternating who bought dinner, and many parts of it had changed over time. It was a dance of equals, and the exchanges of tokens (to be set in the bracelets) was a visual marker of its completion. "We'll fill these spaces," Asandeh assured her. "The pattern we make will be our own."

"I just hope I can do it right."

"A great part of this is communication. We're showing each other our skills, our abilities, our knowledge. Learning strengths and weaknesses so that we can help each other. We're coming to this from literally different worlds. Communication will make this work. That's what courtship is for."

She could imagine how it came about. Marriage for love is a recent invention. For centuries on Earth, marriage was a literal business or political transaction among the upper classes. Even among the lower classes, the couple had to concern themselves with providing food, shelter, and offspring. Love came later, if it came at all. _Looks like just about every planet in the Federation has the same sort of history of love_.

"The form," Asandeh continued, "of courtship is merely a guide. It's not a map, or a set of instructions."

Improvising. That could be fun. "Interesting."

And after the last dish was cleared, Asandeh stood and held out a hand. Feeling very like the lady in a romance, Mercy took it.

Smoothly, Asandeh pulled her close. "I understand at least one dance is customary. We can do so here, in private, or go to a more public place." A gentle, passionate kiss. "I want everyone to see the woman who has my heart."

Privacy tempted her. Their caresses could be more intimate. On the other hand, she also wanted people to see them together. "So do I."

* * *

The club was full, but not packed. Tonight, there was a live band, 'Tech Support', whose members were from the technical support disciplines on base. Slow dances seemed the order of the evening.

"My luck holds," Asandeh said. "I studied several Terran slow dances."

"I like slow. Especially tonight."

Asandeh led. Mercy ran a hand over the tunic embroidery, trying not to think of where she really wanted to touch her date. "This is beautiful. Any meaning to these patterns?"

"Just decoration. Hand-sewn by my marriage-sister, Aimoret. You would call her my brother's sister-in-law."

"Rather a mouthful. I like 'marriage-sister.'"

"A gift when I joined Galaxy Security. Where did you get your lovely outfit?"

"I was visiting my parents. Mom insisted I should have something pretty to wear."

"She chose well. Every man we've passed has given you a second look. Many were surprised to recognize you." A gentle smile. "They were pleasantly surprised."

"Oh?" Most men didn't look twice at her.

"I was right: when you were a girl, all the boys thought of you as a tomboy sister. And the girls weren't sure what to make of you."

True. She hadn't realized how odd that was until she reached puberty, and the boys looked past her.

"I think the girls were still figuring themselves out. After a bit, I realized my preference. Guys never got me hot and bothered. And I think the girls didn't want to kill their social lives or positions."

"Their loss. My gain." Asandeh stroked her back and kissed her. "You haven't been a hermit."

"No. But they were attracted by my record. If the relationship didn't simply fizzle out, I was told I wasn't 'exciting' enough."

"People who want 'exciting' mistake dessert for the meal, at the least. My own people are warriors, but we don't live for fights. No-one can be that way all the time."

"I was just doing my job." And for some reason people thought some of her actions were worth commendations and medals.

"There's a Spectra commander curled up in a cell moaning about a floor buffer. The sight of you terrified him. You inspire creativity in your subordinates and traumatize enemy soldiers with the results. That is exciting enough. Then you come home, make your report, prepare supper, and wonder why everyone is amazed at what you accomplished. That's the part of you that makes the relationship. Anyone who can't see that is a fool."

Silence for a few minutes. Mercy lost herself in Asandeh's gaze.

"You are an intelligent, brave, attractive woman, Mercy." Punctuated by several kisses on her face and lips. "A good and loyal friend." More kisses. "And if I don't shut up, I will embarrass us both in short order." Her voice took on an interesting purr-growl.

_As if I don't want to pull you down on the floor right now_. "We could – go back to my quarters." She smiled. "No one to embarrass, there."

"One more dance?"

"I don't think I can finish this one."

"Neither can I, to tell the truth."

* * *

They'd used Mercy's car to drive to the land base. Even a touring bike is hardly a date vehicle. Getting to the car took a while, what with stopping to kiss and hug at every excuse.

Then the drive, where Mercy concentrated on the tunnel to avoid thinking about what would happen once they reached her quarters. There were some very interesting differences between human and Barazon anatomy. Some of them, when dwelled on, had sent her to the toy drawer. Then there was that soft, sexy, purring sound San was making.

Asandeh was thinking about where to concentrate her attentions. Explore the differences between them, or start with lips and breasts and work her way down? Already, she was mate-purring.

Arms around each other's shoulders, stopping for kisses and hugs at every excuse, they went to Mercy's quarters. She fumbled the door open while in full lip-lock with Asandeh.

In the main area, they parted. "Bed?" Mercy asked. There was no reason to pretend.

"Definitely."

"What's that sound? It's – exciting."

"The closest translation is 'mate-purring.' I've been – controlling it – all evening." Asandeh nibbled her ear. "Just wait until we get going."

_I've heard it before. Not as loudly, but I've heard her_. "Why wait?"

Asandeh picked her up and headed for the bed.

* * *

Mercy awoke around midnight, smiled, and shifted to a different position in her lover's embrace.

San was enthusiastic, inventive, playful, and always alert for what would please. _And noisy. That wasn't purring: she was growling, and I swear she roared – or whatever it's called_. Definitely worth the wait.

No claws, though, for all the noise. No roughness. Just a wonderful exploration of their similarities and differences.

And she _had_ heard muted purring when they were together at other times. Unconscious on Asandeh's part, which made it sexier. _They probably have names for all the variations_.

This would be an interesting courtship.

She snuggled against Asandeh and drifted off to sleep again.


End file.
